


Everything

by StAnni



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 21:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: It never takes more than one throw of the line to hook Q.  It’s endearing and very fucking hot the way that Quentin doesn’t even look back at the stage, kills the cigarette and with his eyes, so honest and clear, indicates to the unisex bathroom sign. “Think anyone will take our table?” he asks with a tinge of the funniest concern.Eliot has to chuckle. “I think we’re okay.”





	Everything

It’s not a date. They don’t date. They’re in something else, whatever the word is for between figuring out and just giving up, taking the easy way out. Quentin is waiting when Eliot arrives at the club – he had a hard time finding the place, which is a dingy dive bar on the outskirts of Brooklyn – some poetry thing the hedges conjured up. It didn’t sound like a great suggestion when Quentin made it, but it was, unofficially, Quentin’s turn to pick, so Eliot went with it – thin smile, gritted teeth “Oh…fun…”

He gives Quentin a peck on the forehead before he sits down – more out of habit than anything else and he can sense just the slightest annoyance in the way that Quentin’s shoulder stiffens as he touches it to sit down. “Sorry I’m late…this place was a bitch to find.”

Quentin smiles, a thin smile from him this time, “It’s fine.”. Because it’s not a date, and because they don’t date.

Eliot loses interest in the first couple of terrible acts on stage quite fast and instead watches Quentin, smirking, bemused at the shitshow at the front of the club. A waitress wafts past and Eliot catches her elbow, indicating to the empty table. “Can we get a wine for me and my husband?” She smiles with a short nod and Quentin shakes his head at Eliot, quietly. “Why do you do that?”   
There are so many reasons, so many – boredom, perhaps a little irritation, but the main being “It amuses me.” He shrugs, squeezing Quentin’s hand on the table.

Quentin lights a cigarette, and offers one to Eliot which he declines. He only smokes when he is drunk, or after sex. But he discreetly watches Quentin take the first drag, in that way that he does, expelling the smoke over his full lips in a messy river. It’s disgusting, Eliot knows, but he loves to kiss Quentin after he’s had a cigarette – to lick into his mouth into that dusty taste. The thought of it sends a slow pleasurable burn to his cock and he adjusts himself, with a quiet clearing of his throat, meant for Quentin to glance over, and see. And that he does - the subtle movement of his hand moving his hardening cock to the side.

Quentin’s eyes stays fixed on his crotch and Eliot blinks over to him, amused (always amused when Quentin is around) and feigning innocence. “You’ll miss the show, Q.”

It never takes more than one throw of the line to hook Q. It’s endearing and very fucking hot the way that Quentin doesn’t even look back at the stage, kills the cigarette and with his eyes, so honest and clear, indicates to the unisex bathroom sign. “Think anyone will take our table?” he asks with a tinge of the funniest concern.

Eliot has to chuckle. “I think we’re okay.”

If this was a date, things wouldn’t be that much different. They wouldn’t be in a place as shitty as this, that’s for sure, but they’d probably also end up in a bathroom stall. That’s for damn sure.

In the stall Eliot is surprised at the force behind’s Quentin’s shove as he presses Eliot to the closed stall door. “Feel.” Quentin breathes before he opens his mouth to Eliot’s surprised grin – and pushes Eliot’s hand down to Quentin’s magnificently hard cock straining against his jeans. The feel, the girth of Quentin’s cock under the material and his hungry, breathless kiss momentarily blinds Eliot to the point where he has to push away slightly, but gently, and forehead to Quentin’s whispers, in a voice a little too uneven for his liking “Just, one sec…”

It’s not a date. So he should keep control. Which proves slightly more difficult than he is used to. 

Quentin is not making it easier. One hand already snaking down and into the front of Eliot’s pants, and the other curling around his neck (Quentin loves to run his fingers with purpose into the curls there), his voice is low, and breath hot, against Eliot’s ear. “Call me that again.”

For a moment Eliot, blissing in Quentin’s proximity, is lost. “Say what?”

And Quentin’s hand is on his cock, tight and firm, stroking down. And Quentin’s hips press forward, so that Eliot can feel – his hand still on Quentin’s clothed cock, Quentin’s knuckles moving in his pants. “Husband, boyfriend, something.” Quentin answers.

The realization spreads like soft warm water through Eliot’s veins – filling his heart, threatening to overwhelm him. Quentin isn’t just hard because Eliot gave him a bit of a preview at the table, Quentin is hard because of what Eliot said, in jest, mostly, at the table. The fucking joy of it rolls over him and he turns them around in a swift and rough movement, pressing Eliot firm against the door and deepening the kiss with a hunger for Quentin that will probably never be sated. “Husband” He breathes as Quentin, fully consumed in the moment, unzips both of them hastily, “Boyfriend”, he continues as Quentin grips Eliot by the hips and pull into him “Everything” he finishes as Quentin, going up on his toes, rubs the length of his warm, perfect cock up Eliot’s. 

Quentin is utterly unpredictable when it comes down to it. It is glorious. Eliot never knows whether Quentin is going to fall to his knees or shove him around, braced against a wall or all fours on the bed. And with Quentin, Eliot is, honestly, up for anything. 

“So suck your boyfriend’s cock.” Quentin orders with a low voice and eyes just a little wild. A jolt of pure electric pleasure surges through him as he sinks down and Eliot, holding Quentin with a tight grip by the hips, yanks him forward, taking his cock in smooth, slow and thoroughly deep into his mouth. Quentin, above him, topples forward just a bit – letting out a stifled groan of elated shock. He’s good at sucking dick, but he is the king of sucking Quentin’s dick.  
It is wet and messy, just like Quentin likes it, and Eliot’s own cock is leaking heavy between his legs. On that delicious edge just on the wrong side of patience.   
Quentin is debauched, rutting forward into Eliot’s mouth, gripping the back of Eliot’s curls in a tight fist and comes, unabashed, and with a short cry, down Eliot’s throat. 

Quentin’s jeans are tight and Eliot shoves them down with effort before he rises up, sliding two split-slick finger into Quentin’s ass. He hisses, but more with surprise, and Eliot covers his mouth in a searing kiss before he says, self-control abandoned “So, let your husband fuck you.”

When he presses inside Eliot is tight and unbearably hot, and Eliot, with a moan, meets him eagerly, shoving back and taking him in in a rough shove, up to his balls, with a slap that is so dirty the sound of it could be used in every porn from now until oblivion.   
“Damnit, Q, you’re going to make me lose it.” He grates out before he thrusts in again, hard, for good measure, against a fresh moan from Quentin. He can only imagine the other occupants of the bathroom, ears to the stall door.

He doesn’t last long, with Quentin groaning beautifully – his arms straining for purchase against the door – pushing back on every thrust and comes, with a shudder emanating form his bones, deep inside Quentin – emptying himself, filling Quentin to the brim and so much so that when he pulls out, Quentin’s ass is red and wet. 

“Fuck, fuck that was amazing” Quentin breathes, still braced against the door – his head pressed against the door – the silky brown hair a soft wave against his cheek. And if Eliot could he would take him right away again – wet and loose, fuck him until he couldn’t walk straight.

Back at the table Quentin is all smiles, easy and relaxed and Eliot cannot take his eyes off of him, off of that smile, those dimples. His husband, boyfriend, everything.


End file.
